


Before Winter Comes

by sarahleen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Starks aren't going to have an easy time, Time Travel, be ready for angst, it's gonna be a long and bloody ride, not totally a fix-it fic, they still have enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21915574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahleen/pseuds/sarahleen
Summary: The Starks always said that winter was coming. Now, winter is here and the living have lost. When Sansa awakes to what what should be death and finds herself very much alive and looking like her much younger self. Together, the re-awakened Starks must ensure that the Seven Kingdoms are ready for the winter to come and save their family in the process.(AKA this is another timetravel sort of fix-it story. Mostly Sansa-centric, but some focus on other major characters.)
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, ships to be added as I think of them/make up my mind
Comments: 53
Kudos: 144





	1. Sansa Stark I: The Dying Breath of Winter

**Sansa Sark I**

Sansa’s breath came out in jagged gasps as she ducked behind one of the now empty tombs. For not the first time in the last weeks, she cursed Tyrion and his ever so brilliant ideas. How naïve she had been as a girl to think he was the smartest man she had met. Perhaps her standards in King’s Landing were even lower than she remembered. No man stupid enough to send all the women and children to the crypts when the dead were the enemy should be classified as a smart man. Yet, here they were.

It was almost fitting that the end of the Starks would come in the form of the fallen kings of winter. After everything she survived, another Stark would be her downfall. Sansa could only hope that this would be her final resting place and she would not march further South with the army of the dead. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and she prayed that even death would not be enough to force her from these halls again. This was her home.

A skeletal form came into view. Pressed up against the stone of a tomb, there was nowhere for Sansa to flee to. She steeled herself for the blade to come down on her. The pain was swift and it was over quickly. After the Lannisters and the Boltons, Sansa supposed this was a better end than the others she escaped.

* * *

Waking after death was about as difficult as waking after a short and fitful sleep. Sansa’s eyes slowly blinked open. She groaned, praying for just a few more minutes of sleep while knowing it would not come. It took her moment to realize that she was not merely waking up from sleep, that she should not be waking at all.

Bolting upright, Sansa frantically looked around. Instead of being down in the in the Crypts with the reanimated corpses of her ancestors, she was tucked safely in the bed of her childhood room. If this was death, then Sansa was thankful it came in the form of Winterfell. She told Myranda some years ago that she could not be scared in her home. These walls were a reminder of everything she endured to return here. This was the safest place she could be.

Sansa turned at the sound of knocking at the door just before it creaked open. A sob nearly tore through her throat as she gazed at the figure of her long dead Septa. The last time she saw this face it was rotting along with her father’s and all his men’s heads on spikes. Yet, the Septa was here looking completely untroubled.

Septa Mordane paused and frowned at Sansa in the bed, “Lady Sansa, you should be out of bed by now! It is nearly time to break your fast.”

As a child, Sansa never would have thought she would have missed having the Septa scold her. But now, as a woman grown and many years removed from the safety of her childhood, she could not help but feel a sense of joy about finally having it again.

“Come now child, let us get you dressed,” the Septa waved her out of bed, seemingly not acknowledging the shock this meeting was sending Sansa into.

All words died in her throat as she looked at her Septa. Numbly Sansa climbed out of the bed without a word. As soon as her feet touched the cold floor of her bed chamber, Sansa noted something odd. Well, something odd enough for her notice through the shock of confronting a ghost of her childhood. Sansa was much shorter in death. Looking down at her hands, Sansa realized her whole body was different. She felt as though she was in the body of a young child and not a woman of nearly twenty name days.

Without leaving any room for discussion, Septa Mordane had Sansa dressed and ready to head down to the dining hall. Sansa could not find any words as they walked swiftly through the halls of her home. She feared that saying a single word would cause her Septa to disappear and she would be left alone in whatever version of an afterlife this surely was.

Walking into the dining hall, Sansa’s eyes immediately fell on the high table. Not having even prayed the Seven in many years, she could not help but wonder what she had done in her life to deserve this high of a Heaven. Before her was a sight she barely had let herself hope to see even in her dreams. Her father sat at the high table eating his food, looking every bit like the memory Sansa clung to from her childhood. Next to him, Robb sat eating quickly, presumably eager to be excused to head to the training yard.

Sansa took her seat, drinking in the sight of her family. Her mind was still spinning, desperately attempting to process the fact that her long dead father and brother were sitting beside her. She dared not look away. If she looked away, they might both vanish and reveal this all to be some cruel trick. Sansa Stark knew better than to let her guard down and allow herself to get too comfortable. She knew all too well how quickly good things could be ripped away.

Her father turned to look at her, catching her staring at him, “Are you feeling well, Sansa?”

“Yes, father. I feel quite well. Better than I have in a long time.”

Before the Lord of Winterfell could respond, a piercing scream broke through the calm. Sansa had not heard her mother’s voice in years, let alone her screaming, but she knew immediately that the scream belonged to her Catelyn Stark.

In an instant, the entire dining hall was in uproar. Ned and Robb rushed to their feet and towards the scream. Sansa followed quickly behind, silently dreading whatever they were about to find. In the years since father’s death, Sansa’s nightmares had often been filled with sights of her family and their demise. Despite all her efforts to prepare herself for the worst, to not allow herself to feel too comfortable in whatever afterlife this was, she had the tiniest bit of hope that she had finally found peace. Peace looked like her father calmly eating a meal, his head very much attached to his head. Her mother’s screams did not belong in that peace.

The screaming had stopped before the group reached the lord’s chambers. Ned flung open the door to reveal the Lady of Winterfell, on her knees and sobbing out a prayer. Sansa often remembered her mother praying. It was a fond memory that stuck with her even years after the woman’s death. This frantic and desperate kind of prayer was not at all like the ones Sansa remembered from her childhood. All her memories of her mother praying were calm, surrounded by the soft and comforting lighting of Winterfell’s Sept. Catelyn’s Stark’s words now were rushed and jumbled through her sobs.

A quick glance around the room proved there was no immediate danger, just Catelyn sobbing out prayers and a very concerned handmaiden, who was failing quite miserably to calm her lady down. Ned rushed to his wife’s side, causing the handmaiden to back away from the couple. 

Catelyn turned to look at her husband, somehow managing to sob even harder at the sight of his face. Sansa could barely hear what her mother was saying as the woman flung herself into Ned’s arms. All she could understand was her father’s name in between the broken sobs. She could see her father’s lips quickly moving, forming words to comfort Catelyn that Sansa could not hear.

In the chaos, more people entered the room. Sansa briefly noted Jon and Arya’s arrival and the fact that Bran and Rickon were both still unaccounted for. Jon quickly went into action to order the startled handmaiden out of the room and shutting the door.

As Ned started to calm his wife down, Sansa was able to make out some of her mother’s words. In her panic, the older woman still was not able to form coherent sentences, but Sansa heard enough to know she was speaking of the Freys and death.

Slowly, she knelt next to her parents and put a comforting hand on her mother’s shoulder. Catelyn turned to look at her, suddenly crying out her name and pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Mother,” Sansa spoke quietly, barely able to keep herself from breaking into tears as well, “It’s alright. You’re safe now. We all are.”

Catelyn’s sobbing began to ease as she looked upon her oldest daughter. Prayers stopped forming on her lips as she looked up to see her eldest son and younger daughter also in the room.

Sansa drew her mother’s attention back to her, “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“Robb. Bolton stabbed him. I couldn’t,” a broken cry escaped her, “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save any of you.”

Ned stared at his wife, “Cat, you just had a nightmare, nothing more. Look around, Robb is right there.”

Sansa paused, “Father, it wasn’t a nightmare. Do you not remember-” her words cut off as the door to the chamber once again flung open.

In the doorway, a disheveled young Bran Stark stumbled into the room. He collapsed to the ground, his breathing erratic and eyes darting around the room. His eyes found Sansa’s and for a moment the boy looked relieved.

“I did it,” he was choking on the words, his energy rapidly leaving him, “Brought us home. Not much time. Must stop the Night King.”

Sansa scrambled across the floor to her younger brother. After so long seeing him as the emotionless vessel of the Three Eyed Raven, the look he gave her was something that scared her even more than his current state. He was scared, and Sansa had never seen him truly terrified.

“What are you talking about? The long night is over. We lost. We’re dead,” Sansa had accepted the moment her ancestor’s broke free of their tombs that the living would lose. She had only moments to prepare herself for death, but she knew when there was no way out.

Bran desperately shook his head and spoke in jagged breaths, “No. Have more time now. Stop the dead. Promise me.”

“I don’t understand-” Sansa began to protest.

“Promise me,” Bran gripped her hand tight, urging her to understand what he was asking.

After a long moment, Sansa nodded and whispered, “I promise.”

Bran seemed to calm at this and his grip on her hand began to loosen. His shallow breaths became even more ragged and he suddenly began convulsing on the ground. Ned quickly pulled Sansa away from Bran as Maester Luwin rushed into the room and knelt by the convulsing boy. It wasn’t long before Bran stilled. The Maester continued his efforts, but he too stilled after a few minutes.

Ned was still holding Sansa back as Maester Luwin looked up and shook his head, “I’m sorry, My Lord. The boy is gone.”

Sansa was once again aware of her mother’s sobbing. Having always been the one who most took to her mother’s faith, Sansa was no stranger to joining her mother in prayer. She couldn’t stop herself from joining this one as a broken sob tore through her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
>  I haven’t written fanfiction (or really anything) in a long time, but I love the time travel trope so much and have to write one of my own. It’s obviously been done a lot, so I’m going to try to make it my own. This story’s main focus won’t be on romance, but I would like to eventually pair someone with Sansa (I’m a sucker for a good ship). I’m leaning towards Jon or Theon but leave suggestions with your thoughts.   
>  Also, I don’t currently have a Beta reader or anything. If you’re interested in helping me out, let me know!  
>  Thanks for reading! :D


	2. Bran Stark I: An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What remains of Bran Stark and his battle for the living.

**Bran Stark I**

There was little left of young Bran Stark by the end of days. As the dead overtook Winterfell, the ancient being currently occupying what was once his body looked on in only mild interest. The Three Eyed Raven saw the many paths this world could take and resigned itself to its failure, knowing now without a doubt the living were lost. Soon, the army of the dead would be all that was left. It was a disappointing ending, not the one the ancient being once hoped for, but it accepted this end with all the emotion one feels at a minor inconvenience.

What remained of Bran Stark, however, was not resigned to this fate. His entire being felt crammed into a small corner of his own mind, the rest giving way to an ancient being whose powers the young lordling still did not quite understand. That small part of him raged and mourned at the sight of humanity falling to the army of the dead. These people were all practically strangers to the Three Eyed Raven, but they were much more to Bran Stark. As the living fell, his siblings fell with them. They were all he had left, the last things that tethered what was left of a young boy to this world.

The Three Eyed Raven long ago grew accustomed to remains of the young boy in the back of its mind, always hiding and powerless, in the same way it had for all of its former hosts. The hosts always stayed quiet, eventually fading into nothingness. The ancient being expected the remains of Bran Stark would be much the same. After all, the boy stayed quiet for many years. It should have stayed rooted in the old Weirwood tree. It never should have let Bran Stark return to Winterfell. It was not prepared for the broken and scared boy to fight back.

After years of sharing a mind with the Three Eyed Raven, Bran had only vague understandings of the powers his former body now possessed. However, he held out hope that he could do something. It was the kind of hope of a young boy with dreams of becoming a gallant knight rescuing those in danger. Every living being was in need of rescuing now. Bran Stark never got to be a knight, but perhaps this would be close enough. He would never fight on a battlefield, but he would wage war with ancient gods. And he would win.

The world around him began to spin as the Three Eyed Raven fought back. Bran struggled for control, willing with every bit left of his being that his siblings would live and the living would win. If they just had more time, he knew his family could save the living. Starks warned for generations that winter was coming. They did not heed their own words well enough. They would this time.

He woke to the sound of a piercing scream. It was his mother. The Three Eyed Raven once heard her scream like that in one of its visions, the one where she saw her eldest son slain and then died herself. That scream haunted what was left of Bran Stark.

For the first time in many years, Bran stood and ran. His legs were shaky and his steps unsteady as he slowly moved through the now unfamiliar motions. He felt himself fading as he finally made it to his destination. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. One last time, he wanted to see his family through his own eyes.

There was no longer enough left of Bran Stark to maintain this body. The Three Eyed Raven took its toll over the years. Bran Stark may have won this battle, but the Raven would not die quietly. It would drag this broken boy down with it into the nothingness.

Bran collapsed on the ground as he stumbled his way into the room. There they were. His family was home. They were safe. They stood a chance. Relief washed over him for a moment as he caught his eldest sister's gaze. The panic set in again quickly after. He had to save them. Getting them here was not enough. He didn't have much time.

"I did it," he struggled to get the words out through jagged breaths, "Brought us home. Not much time. Must stop the Night King."

Sansa tried to argue. There was no time for arguments. "No. Have more time now. Stop the dead. Promise me."

He gripped his sister's hand, finding comfort in it despite knowing it would be the last contact he would ever have with anyone. There wasn't time for more. "Promise me."

"I promise," the whisper from Sansa was the last thing he heard as everything went dark. What was left of Bran Stark finally felt peace. The Starks would survive. While he had none left, the living had more time. Within moments, all of Bran Stark was gone, leaving behind only a body that he barely remembered being his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked the only Bran POV we’re going to get in this story.  
> A few things to note:  
> I’ve spent the last couple of months deciding where I want to take this story. Some of you will probably notice that the Jon/Sansa tag is now gone. I tagged the ship originally since I was heavily considering it for this story and know that some people are really against the ship; I didn’t want to end up deciding that was where this was going without warning those people it might happen. I asked for opinions about it at the end of the last chapter, so I’m sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping for that ship over Theon/Sansa. Ultimately, I decided it didn’t quite fit with where this story is going, especially since I had an idea for a different fic that would be Jon/Sansa that makes way more sense in my head.  
> I also want to reiterate that this fic isn’t centered around the romance. Yes, there will be some Theon/Sansa now, but it certainly isn’t the main focus here. Also, I might still end up throwing some Jon/Sansa scenes in there on occasion (in which case I would add the tag back as a minor tag). Anyways, I hope this doesn’t disappoint anyone too much. I’m looking forward to where this story is going, and I just have to stick to that. <3  
> 


	3. Catelyn Stark I: A Mother's Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn Stark finally learns what is going on.

**Catelyn Stark I**

Catelyn Stark had never been one to question her gods’ judgement. Her entire life, she followed the Seven faithfully and blindly. Did she not worship them purely enough? Did she not devote herself fully enough? Did she not pray hard enough? Now, she knew her gods were either cruel or indifferent; she did not know which option was worse. Her gods had either turned their backs on her and her suffering or they were torturing her. First, they let her children die, making her watch as Robb fell. Now, they left her in this hell. It was a half-life. They gave her hope and then killed it along with Bran.

Days bled together, and Catelyn spent nearly all her time in the Sept. She stuttered prayers to gods she did not believe would listen anymore. It was the last comfort she had. If only it would be enough to protect her children. She wondered if there was anything that would save them. Had the gods cursed her to watch all her children die for eternity? When she died, would she wake up to another horror? All she wanted was peace, and she would never have it now.

It seemed that all of Winterfell came to a standstill after Bran’s death. Catelyn couldn’t remember a time when it had been so quiet. Even the gossipiest servants didn’t dare so much as whisper in her presence. She ignored them any time they glanced at her with their pity. Everyone had heard how she screamed that day. They did not know that her screams were originally for a different son. They did not know the horror of that image in her mind. They would never understand her grief.

In the middle of a prayer, Catelyn noted her daughter kneeling to join her. Of all her children, Sansa was always the one embraced the New Gods the most. She was the easiest of all her children to deal with, a proper Southron lady. It broke Catetlyn’s heart to think of what the South must have done to her child. If only she had dissuaded her daughter from her dreams of being Queen. She should have never let her go South.

“Mother,” Sansa’s quiet voice finally interrupted Catelyn’s prayer, “I think we should speak now.”

“There is nothing to speak of. Hush now, we should be praying.”

Sansa did not speak for a long moment, and Catelyn began her prayer again. Maybe if she repeated it enough, the gods would have to listen to her.

“I stopped praying a long time ago, Mother. The gods do not listen. I learned that after Uncle’s wedding.”

Catelyn’s blood went cold. She must have misheard. Surely, Sansa couldn’t remember the life Catelyn woke from. The past week, Catelyn had barely left the Sept and found herself unable to look upon any of her children without the cloud of grief hanging over her. She never again spoke of her own death, knowing her story would only seem like she was going mad. She remembered Ned saying it was all a dream. Catelyn wished she could think he was right.

“You do not have a married uncle,” Catelyn’s hands shook as she tried to keep herself calm.

“No, I suppose he is not married yet,” the younger girl paused with a small sigh, “Perhaps this was a mistake. I will leave you to your prayers.”

Sansa turned to leave. Catelyn’s hand reached out and grasped hers, causing her daughter to turn and look back at her. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither seeming willing to speak.

Finally, Catelyn gathered her courage, “Do you remember the life I do? The war?”

“I remember many wars, Mother. Robb’s was far from the last.”

“What… What happened have I died?”

Catelyn was not naïve enough to think that the remains of her family did not suffer after the North’s war ended. She did not want to know what horrors her daughter must have seen, but she needed to know what they were up against. If this was the gods’ punishment for her, Catelyn could not just accept it without a fight. She would do anything to protect her children, no matter how many times she would have to relive horror and death.

Sansa’s lips curved into a sad smile, “Come with me. I think it is better to be with the others for this.”

* * *

Catelyn paused as they reached Sansa’s chambers. She could hear voices inside but couldn’t make out who they belonged to. Others knowing made this too real. It hadn’t just been some terrible nightmare, but a life she lived once. None of it made sense. Yet, here they were, remembering that lifetime.

Sansa opened the door and ushered her mother in, “As far as we know, this is everyone who remembers in Winterfell.”

Catelyn noted three people around the room. Arya looked deep in conversation with the bastard when the door opened. Having the bastard here was bad enough, but it was the third figure furthest from the door that drew Catelyn’s glare. The traitor. The man who slaughtered her two youngest sons in her last life. He may never get the chance to murder Bran in this new life, but that did not negate what he did, especially if he remembered it.

“Why would you bring me to see a bastard and a traitor?” she turned to Sansa.

“Have a seat, Mother. You can leave now, if you’d like, or you can stay and hear what happened after your death. I thought you might be interested to know what we will be up against, but if you would rather go back to pretending that hiding in the Sept will save us, be my guest. If we must do this without you, we will find a way.”

Sansa sat down next to the traitor as if to prove a point. It was then that Catelyn noticed the differences between this girl and the one she remembered leaving Winterfell for the King’s Landing. The Sansa she remembered was a naïve girl with her head filled with stories of golden princes and romance. The girl before her commanded a room with ease. There was a confidence about her that Catelyn could not remember her daughter ever having. She did not doubt that leaving now would leave her without her daughter.

Slowly, she took a seat, “You better have a good reason for them being here.”

The bastard took that moment to speak, “In all fairness, Lady Stark, I did warn Sansa that we should not be here when she told you. If it makes you feel any better, I dislike being in a room with him as well.” It was rare for the bastard to ever speak to her. Catelyn made sure he learned early that she wanted to never be aware of his presence in her household. Seemingly, the bastard grew more audacious in the last life. At least the traitor had the sense not speak up for himself.

Before Catelyn could argue any further, Sansa interrupted, “That’s enough. I will not hear any more on Theon’s place here. For all his mistakes, he saved me and then died for Winterfell like the rest of us. Theon is not our enemy, and we need to make sure Mother knows everything before we can make any plans.”

Arya shifted in her seat, “I’ll start, might as well get it over with. I think Father’s death is a good enough place as any."

Catelyn took a moment to finally look at her younger daughter. On the surface, she could not see much that had changed. The girl’s gaze was harder somehow and she looked calmer compared to everyone else in the room. Arya had always been one of the more rambunctious of her children, making it difficult for her to ever sit calmly in one place for very long. To see her so calm speaking of her father’s death was chilling.

“I managed to escape King’s Landing when they murdered Father. The Lannisters only ever had Sansa as a hostage. My plan was to get back North. I travelled with a group heading to the wall and posed as a boy. We got captured and taken to Harrenhal. I spent some time as Tywin Lannister’s cup bearer, but he never realized who I was. I met a Faceless Man there. He helped my friends and I escape. We were on our way to Riverrun when we got caught up with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Then the red witch took one of my friends as Stannis Baratheon’s hostage. I tried to flee, but the Hound caught me. He planned on ransoming back to you, but we never made it anywhere in time.”

Arya paused, seemingly lost in thought, “I was there that night. We were maybe an hour too late. I watched them kill Grey Wind and then sew his head onto Robb’s body and parade it around. I added every Frey man to my list that night.”

“List?” Catelyn cautiously asked, unable to say anything else at the thought of her daughter having witnessed the massacre she woke from.

A look crossed Arya’s face that her mother had never seen before. It chilled her. “A list of people I want to kill. It got long and I never had to chance to get some of them, but I crossed quite a few off.”

Perhaps, Catelyn should have expected this. If her daughter managed to escape King’s Landing, she could not have done it with clean hands. But to hear that her daughter, no matter how wild she remembered her to be, had killed was a terrifying thought.

“The Hound tried to take me to Aunt Lysa next. We got there three days late to find out she was already dead. Brienne of Tarth found us not long after and fought the Hound. I robbed and left him for dead after Brienne defeated him. Then I left on my own.”

Catelyn made a noise of protest, “Why would you not go with Brienne? She could have seen you to safety!” While she hadn’t known the woman for very long, she had always trusted that Brienne would do everything she could to protect the Stark daughters and fulfill her oaths. To think that her daughter turned down that help was inexplicable.

Arya shrugged, “I learned not to trust people, especially someone armored by a Lannister. Now I know she was honest, but I don’t regret not going with her. I got to cross another name off my list in Braavos. I needed to train with the Faceless Men. And I did, for a while. I was never good at letting go of who I am. It may not have ended well, but I learned what I needed to from them and left before they could kill me.

“The first thing I did when I returned to Westeros was avenge you and Robb. I killed every Frey man and made sure everyone knows that the North remembers, and winter came for House Frey. Made my way back to Winterfell after I heard that it was in Stark hands again.”

Catelyn was not usually a woman who was lost for words, but she found herself unable to speak when her youngest daughter stopped. It was difficult to recognize the little girl she remembered and the girl in front of her now. While they looked the same, this Arya was a killer and a far cry from the innocent child running after her brothers. Catelyn let out a shaky breath, “How did you kill the Freys? There are so many of them.”

“I doubt you would like the answer to that. I picked up a few tricks in Braavos.”

As much as she wanted to know the truth, Catelyn figured she should be grateful to be spared the gory details. It was one thing to know that her daughter killed people and entirely different one to know how she did it. If Arya was adamant to keep it to herself, Catelyn had to trust it was for a good reason, and let her say it only when she was ready.

“What about the Lannisters and the Boltons? What happened to them?”

This time, it was Sansa who spoke, “I think that question is better left to me.”

After hearing Arya’s story, Catelyn dreaded to know what happened to Sansa. For as much as she hated to admit it, Catelyn was glad to know Arya learned to defend herself. If either of her daughters had that ability, it wasn’t Sansa. Sansa was a perfect lady in every respect, so Catelyn doubted she ever learned something so unladylike to kill a man. No, she would have been defenseless.

" Being betrothed to Joffrey gave me no protection. He took every chance he could to make me miserable. He once forced me to look at father’s head on a spike with the rest of our household and told me he would give me Robb’s head. After every battle Robb won, he would have the King’s Guard beat me in front of the court. I was terribly glad when he set me aside for Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrells tried to orchestrate a plot for me to marry Ser Loras, but the Lannisters heard of it and married me to Tyrion instead.”

Catelyn scowled at the mention of her daughter’s marriage to the Imp. She should have killed him when she had the chance and he was still her hostage. It would have saved her daughter from ever having to become a Lannister. There was little else Catelyn could have protected her from.

Sansa seemed to notice her mother’s discomfort and continued, “He was kind to me. Never took his rights as my husband and protected me when he could. I never loved him, but I would like to think we were something close to friends. Although, that fell apart when I heard of the Red Wedding. The first time I felt something close to joy was watching Joffrey choke on poison at his wedding feast. Baelish had someone sneak me out to his ship while everyone was distracted and took me to the Eyrie.”

At the mention of her childhood friend and her sister’s home, Catelyn felt relieved knowing that her daughter’s story wasn’t nearly as terrible as she thought it could be. Surely, Lysa kept her safe in Eyrie. It was the look on Sansa’s face that told Catelyn how wrong she was. It got worse.

“Things were fine for a while. I know she is your sister and doubt you will want to speak ill of her, but you must know that Aunt Lysa is not well. Baelish is not your friend and will do anything to get ahead. He protected me because he loved you and I looked enough like you to satisfy that desire. Aunt Lysa saw the way he looked at me and thought I was trying to steal him away from her. She threatened to kill me. Baelish got to her first. I lied to the Lords of the Vale that she threw herself out the moon door. I thought it was better to take my chances with Baelish since I knew what he wanted from me, and he promised to take me somewhere safe.”

Catelyn was not enough of a fool to ever think her sister was completely sane. She saw the madness the last time she spoke to Lysa. Still, to imagine her sister would go so far as to betray their house’s words. Family was supposed to mean something to Tullys. Lysa should have shown her niece nothing but loyalty. At least Petyr was there to protect her, but Sansa’s description of him gave her little hope that he would continue to do so.

“Baelish took me back to Winterfell, which fell into Bolton hands. We encountered Brienne of Tarth before we made it there. Baelish convinced me to reject her. He had me marry Roose Bolton’s legitimized bastard, Ramsay, claiming I could take over the house from within. He was wrong. I always thought Joffrey would be the most horrible man I would meet, but then I met Ramsay and he was worse than I could ever imagine. He raped me every night. I was terrified. A maid tried to help me once; he flayed her and made me look at her corpse.”

Sansa avoided her gaze, and Catelyn dared not interrupt her. She needed to hear everything that happened to her daughter, no matter how much it hurt her to hear. She could do nothing to erase what happened after her death, but she could comfort her daughters now. She would listen to anything her daughters wanted to share, and she would have to stay strong for them. After so many days mourning Bran and locked in the Sept, Catelyn knew that she needed to step up and protect her children now. Her own sorrow couldn’t come before her daughters’.

“Theon never killed Bran and Rickon. He betrayed our family by taking Winterfell from us, but Bran and Rickon escaped. Then, Ramsay came. Theon was Ramsay’s captive when I returned to Winterfell. Ramsay broke him so thoroughly that he could only call himself Reek and shake with fear. Eventually, it was Theon who rescued me. Ramsay’s mistress was going to maim me, and Theon pushed her off the battlement and killed her. Together, we fled. We were almost caught by Bolton men when Brienne and her squire found and saved us. She escorted me to Castle Black so Jon could protect me.”

Catelyn looked over at the traitor for the first time since she sat down. She had avoided looking at him, fearing she would do something that would cause Sansa to decide to leave her out of any future discussions. He did not meet her gaze, seemingly shrinking away from attention. She mourned her two youngest children for so long, and now to find out they lived brought her some comfort. Bran was gone from this life but knowing that he lived in the last one eased some of the weight on her heart. It didn’t change the fact that Theon was a traitor, but at least he had enough sense not to have murdered her sons.

“What happened to Bran and Rickon if he didn’t murder them?”

Sansa hesitated for a moment and looked down at her hands, “We’re not entirely sure of the whole story. We know a wildling woman helped them escape with Hodor, and Bran went beyond the wall with the Reed children. At some point after I escaped Winterfell, the Umbers captured Rickon and the wildling woman. They gave Rickon to Ramsay. Jon and I had gathered an army. It was mostly wildings and a few loyal houses. We went to take back Winterfell together. Ramsay dragged Rickon out to the battlefield and shot him through with an arrow before Jon could reach him.”

It seemed like nothing could right for her children. The comfort of knowing her sons escaped the traitor’s grasp was short lived, much like Rickon. Were all her children doomed to die tragically young? Catelyn felt completely powerless to do anything that could save her children, but she had to do something.

“You only had a few loyal houses? The Umbers betrayed us as well?” For how much honor the Northmen always claim to have, Catelyn would have expected more from them.

Sansa nodded, “Jon and I went to most of the great houses in the North. Only houses Mormont, Hornwood, and Mazin answered the call. The Umbers and Karstarks sided with the Boltons. We would have lost, but the Knights of the Vale came with Baelish. Jon captured Ramsay. He died a painful death. We took back Winterfell and the lords of the North named Jon king with my blessing. Although, he then gave up the crown and swore the North to Daenerys Targaryen.”

Before the Catelyn could say anything about how the bastard had proved her right and usurped her children’s claim, he sighed, “Sansa, please don’t start this again. You know it had to be done. We didn’t have enough men to fight on our own. She was our only chance at surviving.”

Sansa looked away, “Just because I know it was the only way, doesn’t mean I have to like it. Besides, it’s not like your plan worked. We all died anyways.”

Catelyn’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Why would you ally with a Targaryen? Was it the Lannisters who killed you?” Based on what her daughters said, Catelyn couldn’t think of any other enemies. Only the Lannisters and their fake Baratheon bastards would drag the North into another war.

The bastard shook his head, “The Lannisters were a problem we would have dealt with when Daenerys went to take the Iron Throne, but that isn’t why I bent the knee to her. Lady Stark, I know this will make us sound mad, but all of this feels mad. The dead are rising beyond the wall. Eventually, they will march south and destroy everyone in their path. They killed us all. Bran wasn’t exactly Bran anymore when we met him again. He came back from beyond the wall as the Three Eyed Raven. We never really understood what that meant, but our best guess is that he did something to send us back and it killed him. He tried to give us a fighting chance.”

Catelyn thought there wasn’t anything else in the world that could surprise her at this point. She had died and then woken up in the past just to see another son die in front of her. Nothing should sound impossible to her. That didn’t make the dead rising sound anymore reasonable.

“You can’t be serious. You expect me to believe that the dead are just raising into an army? That’s ridiculous!”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Not more ridiculous than dying and waking up in the past. Listen, the dead are coming whether you believe us or not. They are the main enemy, but before we can fight them, we must keep Westeros united somehow. So, even if you want to think we’ve all gone mad, you should at least help us do that.”

Catelyn wasn’t sure what to make of this. Looking around her, everyone seemed to agree that the dead would rise, and they were determined to stop it. The only thing Catelyn could be sure of was that they needed to avoid the suffering that awaited her family. First, that meant destroying those who would seek to hurt them. Then, if these children were telling the truth and not mad stories, they would deal with the dead.

“Alright,” she finally conceded, “I will do what I can. We should speak to your father. Even though he doesn’t remember, he is in a position to actually do something about this. He cannot brush of all five of us as having the same nightmare.”

Sansa nodded, “We’ll have to come up with a plan. There’s no stopping King Robert from coming to Winterfell and making Father his new Hand. News of Jon Arryn’s death will reach us any day now. We have to make sure Father believes us and prepare him for what awaits us in the South.”

The bastard once again spoke up, “There is another issue we need to discuss with him. I know who mother is.”

Catelyn froze. Whatever the bastard had discovered about his mother couldn’t be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Originally, I was going to have them talk to Ned, but then it was already so long. That confrontation will be next chapter. And then we’ll be getting into the first big conflict of the story. Please, leave me a review to tell me what you think! I also finally finished blocking this story out, so I’m ready to start writing it more often and consistently.


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